Time
by The Disenchanter
Summary: Born in Lima during the 1950's, a still-youthful Kurt returns to the small town nearly 60 years later in search of an end. The Slayers in the New Directions are only happy to oblige, especially Puck. Eventual PuckxKurt
1. Welcome back

**All righty gals and gents. This story is based off Buffy and Twilight myth. Yes, I know nothing good could come from such a union but here we are.*begins sweeping the floor***

**The story revolves around the idea that our beloved Glee Club exists in a world where vampires and demons are very much real. For a millennia, a lone girl stood in the fight against the encroaching darkness. A slayer. Then a few months ago the rules began to change. People who had the potential to be slayers, became slayers. **

**Warning roll call: foul language.** **Puckurt? Not sure yet. **

**Unedited **

* * *

Puck first saw him while navigating the outskirts of Lima, striding the roadside in tight black jeans, white Doc Marten boots, and an ivory wool sweater that belonged on a Vanity Fair cover model.

The boy treaded the dusty night with confidence that reminded Puck...of himself actually. A hint of the Puckster that made him lock on to the small framed boy with confusion.

_The boy_ ...Puck thought silently..._is beautiful_.

In the glimpse that Puck caught of the boy's face, he saw pearl white skin and hair too fucking hard to imitate without looking gay. The boy was a roadside ghost in Lima's starlight.

The foreign thought twisted a knot in Pucks stomach.

Never in his fucking life had he seen another guy, supernatural or regular flavor, that qualified as beautiful in his eyes.

Except for the late Quinn Fabray, the girls in glee club failed to come close to pretty to him. Prude. Raging bitch. Easy. In love. Dumped him. Each of them had a trait that put off Puck one way or another. Yet even without their quirks or shitty attitude, they wilted in comparison to Quinn. It made Puck smile.

The comforting thought had already been proven unhealthy in a brief visit to a grief counselor a few months after Quinn's death. It wasn't fair to measure the worth of the living exhaling people with the stiff, nearly-always-perfect dead. But it was expected.

The town of Lima had seen a record low in "spontaneous blood leaks" this year, thanks to the work of the McKinley glee club. Everyone in the group did their part to keep the quiet town bloodbath-free, without recognition besides the occasional "Oh my god what the fuck was that" by rescued innocents.

The few members who weren't Slayers found alternative ways to help their teammates fight demonic forces. Tina swam deep into the magiks pool for reasons that Puck managed to find strangely hot.

Swearing to never become a liability to Mike during nightly patrols, Tina's knowledge of the magiks now put her somewhere above a Slayer, power wise. Now if one of them got torn up to the point that a Slayer's healing factor wasn't enough or a formidable demon refused to do right and die, a cell phone call to Tina would usually end their worries with a spell or lightning bolt.

_I can probably take her on_, a thought Puck kept to himself.

Slaying was to Puck like sex was to, well, Puck. Both involved skill, strength and one partner willing to pound the crap out of the other partner. Since the phrase, "Slayer's will often lead brief brutal lives," left Berry's glossed lips, pride swelled in how he served the small town.

The fact that being a slayer endowed superhuman strength, senses, and a short but intense life suited him like a fine leather boot. Fuck, it provided him peace of mind. Living beyond 25 or 30 was never a future he looked forward to.

With Quinn gone and the possibility of harming Beth by lingering for long, a short life being extraordinary was the fucking jackpot. Unlike the rest of the estrogen squad in glee, Puck even managed to luck out of having crap inducing prophetic dreams. Win-win really.

Puck's red Jeep Comanche came to a halt in the road. No androgynous stranger was about to break the peace they had worked hard to establish in Lima.

Had it been Quinn driving, she would've steamed rolled over the stranger and asked questions later.

Checking his rearview mirror for the silhouette of the stranger, Puck found the first sign leading to the nature of the road side traveler. Besides the empty road's reflection, there was no sign of the stranger's image on the mirror, not even a Scooby Doo-esque ghostly outline.

"Knew it," he murmured under his breath. Vampire .

Puck craned his neck around and saw the boy walking towards the truck, his face shrouded under the cover of night. Puck could hear the soft crunching of gravel under the white boots but the distinct lack of a heart beat made him clench his fists. _Sign number dos._

A ready silver stake was hidden deep in his right sleeve, needing no effort in slipping it out and stabbing the vampire when the time came.

Another glance to the road caught Puck by surprise. The boy was already by the foot of the truck, eyes casually glancing at the interior of the truck bed.

Seeing the boy's face up close was like being blasted by a cold wind that chilled Puck's chest. Whoever the young man was, the vampiric transformation had turned him gorgeous.

Carefully coifed brown hair rested on his head, paired with light eyes that could've been described as "kind" by Puck if he was ignorant of the true nature of the young man. A groomed angular face without a scar or blemish, he was almost angelic. The thought further twisted the nervous knot in Puck's stomach.

Before he could will his body to open the door, the young man was next to it, gently tapping the window with a pale index finger.

Dumbstruck, Puck stared back at the young man, unaware that his mouth hung open. _Drop the stunned shit and stab the ghostly skank_, his conscience screamed. _Stab him through the window! Your truck looks like fuck anyway!_

"Hey," was all Puck could muster as he rolled down the driver's window

"Hi," the young man said, a small smile on his lips.

_Fake smile is fake, _his conscience commented._ Why aren't you stabbing?_

"I've never done this before but I'm looking to get a ride to Lima," the young man said. "33rd and Van Ness, specifically. I know hitchhikers get a bad rep but if I walk another mile in these boots, they will be bloody red by the time I get to my house."

A sexy stupid part of Puck, the one he called Puckasaurus, bought the excuse and naiveté oozing out of the young man. It ignored his slayer instincts and obvious signs. Hell, it even bulldozed over the fact that the hitchhiker had a dick._ Maybe._

"Is that all you want?" Puck said absentmindedly, fighting the reflexive smirk that would spread across his face whenever the possibility of sex was appealing. A second later the shock of what he had said hit him.

The young man took a step back, the question obviously making him uneasy. "That was...yes that's all I want."

"Oh god, sorry," Puck said, "I didn't mean you were some roadside whore or vampire-" Somehow the young managed to look even more uneasy. "Excuse me?" he replied.

Puck squirmed. He was being killed in the most humiliating way possible.

Conversing with a vampire was definitely something he had never experienced.

Tackling, staking them in the heart, and wiping off the dust from his letterman jacket was the preferred form of communication. Although he did kiss one vampire cheerleader not too long ago.

"You know, the slutty temptress kind? 'I love Lucy'?" Puck's cracking voice capable of disturbing sleeping dogs. "...vamps?"

The young man shifted in his stance. "No."

Rather than wait for awkward silence to prematurely kill him, Puck unlocked the door to the passenger seat. "Its a bit dirty inside but I'll take you home," he said, slipping the silver stake into his sleeve. "No offensive but you seem like a delicate guy. Wouldn't want you to find something out here you couldn't handle."

* * *

The thirty minute drive to the heart of Lima was stone quiet, occasionally broken by the rattle of the truck's transmission. "Thinking of replacing you're tranny?" the young man finally asked.

"My what?" Puck taken a back by the question. "You're transmission, " the young man said. " Its been rattling the whole drive and the fact the you're driving 45 miles an hour on a 65 mile road tells me you couldn't outrun the cops if you had to."

Noah eye's opened wide at the sentence, causing the young man to blush. "My dad was a grease monkey with an auto shop in Lima."

_Beautiful and knows cars_, Puck thought. "Yeah, I've been meaning...to get it changed." Shooting a smile at the young man, his breathing quickened when the smile was warmly returned.

"Name's Puck by the way," he said, extending one hand to the nameless passenger.

"Kurt," the young man replied, his smaller hand shaking Puck's.

Frigid in his grasp, Puck resisted the urge to clench his jaw. _Sign number tres_, he thought.

In the blurry seconds it would've taken Puck to stake the young man, Kurt pointed to a distant house outside the driver's window. "I'm good here," Kurt said, unbuckling his seatbelt and opening the passenger door of the speeding truck.

"Wait-," was all Puck was able to yell out as Kurt hopped out. The young man noisily landed on his feet, the black concrete of the suburban neighborhood cracking under the pressure of his landing.

Hitting the brakes for the second time tonight, Puck stormed out of his truck, the hesitations and doubts on the nature of his passenger fleeing his mind. "Strike number cuatro you bastard," Puck murmured, sliding the stake out of the sleeve of his jacket.

Kurt remained motionless as he stared at Puck advancing, an awkward marble statue in the middle of the road.

The glow of an approaching car's headlights behind Puck broke the Slayer's concentration, causing him to glance back in precaution. Before Puck could return his attention to Kurt, instinct told him that the vampire was gone.

"Fuckthisheartmolestingskank," Puck muttered, aching to stomp the black out of the concrete where the Kurt had stood.

A woman wearing a yellow bee suit slowly drove by in a black mustang, wondering why a cursing teenager was standing in the middle of the street at 2 a.m.

Thank god she was leaving all the weirdness in Lima.

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**Reviews are love wrapped in layer of deep fried chicken skin.**

** Criticism? Sassy one-liners? **

**Continue? **


	2. Kate

**Well here is the next piece. It's less Puckcentric and more backstory. I tend to find chapters in novels more enjoyable if they explore secondary characters. The smaller the role, the better. Usually. Well lets get this train wreck started! *does the splits***

**As a reminder, this whole thing was unedited. Anyone willing to serve as a beta and follow my harsh and demanding deadlines (not really) email me. Reviews are love. Or hate. It can go either way.**

**Warning: cursing, death, death, and sad feelings in pants.**

* * *

When Kurt left Lima in 1955, he thought the world would follow in the small town's footsteps.

He expected the city of Columbus to have the ethnic diversity of a Ku Klux Klan baby shower but was proven wrong. Arriving some time after midnight, Kurt found a young olive skinned bartender wiping the tops of tables at a deserted restaurant. Tall and humorless, the man exuded the silent strength of an oak tree. He even had the one quality Kurt sought out in his victims: muscle.

Later, after mouthfuls of blood and the panicked calls for help in Spanish had ended, Kurt let numbers guilt him to a corner. The man had been the fifth person he'd killed in the past week.

* * *

In the comforting darkness of a semi-trailer, surrounded by fearful migrant workers, Kurt thought that New York City would be as intolerant of fags as he knew Lima was. Again the world surprised Kurt when he walked by a bar in Greenwich Village after dark.

_The_ _Lady Peaceful_ was Kurt's first exposure to others like him.

Choosing to sit in a lonely corner of the bar , Kurt watched male couples kiss or chat intimately close. Young, old, or some in-between, the men seemed at peace in the privacy of the bar's walls.

A loud buxom woman with towering platinum blonde and a wrinkled silk dress stood alone on a stage at the far end of the room. She sang a tune that Kurt couldn't recognize but was sweet enough to make him smile.

It was a moment of lucidity in Kurt's new life where his mind didn't succumb to baser instincts or suicide. _Was it suicide when you're already dead? _

A couple, both seemingly Kurt's age, walked by him with their hands interlocked. They were the picture of peace and love that Kurt didn't think attainable for people like them.

Suddenly a life with love and no God didn't seem impossible.

Kurt saw the couple slip out of the bar and into the night. The click of a revolver followed by an echoing explosion outside shook him out of his trance. The bar patrons had varying reactions: screams, panic or curiosity from the braver men. The woman on stage paused for moment and continued to sing, as if cutting a song short due to gunfire would be scandalous.

Kurt's senses told him what awaited everyone else outside. The dead couple bleeding on the sidewalk, their fingers still woven together. Beyond the bricks and cars, Kurt could hear the boots of those responsible running furiously across moist pavement.

After that night, Kurt tore through the city of New York, one surviving victim claiming to have seen a pale blur before diamond hard finger tips punched through his chest. The body count had reached twenty four individuals before police had spotted a few shimmering flecks of what seemed like rock in the bloodless bodies. The presence of those glimmering flakes only complicated matters further.

Rattled representatives for the New York Police Department kept quiet, unable to prevent mass hysteria if they revealed to press the details of the murders. With every death that occurred, witnesses were coerced shut and efforts to find the "blur" tripled.

The killings finally ended when Kurt targeted a girl capable of breaking his arms.

* * *

A blonde haired student nurse with lips permanently set to pouty, Kate Evans lived a quiet life in Brooklyn. Responsibility and a lack of interest in men pushed Kate to live with her sister's family in a large three bedroom apartment.

She came upon her mantle as a Slayer late in life, or late relative to a Slayer anyway.

On her 20th birthday Kate was singled out by a well dressed man named Erik Singleton at a deli near her home. Handsome, sallow, and bit fey, Erik made Kate's skin crawl. She hated foreigners with a passion.

According to Erik, he belonged to an England based group called the Watcher's Council. Thanks to hoarded knowledge and techniques perfected by centuries of practice, the council was capable of finding and guiding the one individual in recorded history able to stand toe-to-toe against demons looking to fulfill evil stereotypes: the Slayer.

To Erik, the month long search for the new Slayer had finally ended with her. Kate grunted and avoided eye contact.

Rather than allow her to eat her ham and mozzarella birthday sandwich in peace, the Watcher pelted her with questions.

"Have you had any strange dreams in the last month?"

"Be good and bend this iron bar for me."

"Do you have an aversion to dust?"

"Have you encountered any strange activity in this city as of late?"

"Are you really going to finish that entire sandwich?"

"Dear god you eat like a fat fisherman."

Rather than stay and be questioned by a man with halitosis, Kate tossed the empty sandwich wrapper at his face and walked home.

The Watcher expected it though. He heard stories from elder council members who, in their youth, had found and guided a Slayer of their own. Initially, the subjects always rejected their role. But Watchers persevered thanks to a few simple sentences in the standard Watcher's manual :

"_The Slayer, without the council's guidance, will be like a freefalling blade_. _It needs a firm hand in order to be effective_."

By next morning, Kate would be found dead in an alley way by a lone rookie cop. In her hands, a pair of bleeding pale forearms as hard as diamond. Judging by the broken walls and shattered concrete beneath the officers feet, an epic struggle had occurred before she died.

The story leading up to the encounter between Kurt and Kate is unknown. Yet despite dying, Kate accomplished many things that night. She fulfilled her duty as a Slayer and taught Kurt Hummel humility and the fear of non-existence.

The vampire would fondly remember her for that.

* * *

**Next chapter: Kurt meets the Glee Club.** **We find out what exactly happened to Quinn.**


	3. Captain Fuck Up

**So here's the third installment, betaless (is that a word?) . Far more Puckcentric than the last one, this chapter contains cursing, witchcraft talk, and if you squint a little you might see a nipple. ****Timeline wise? One day after Puck met Kurt. S2 -post sectionals. Still on the fence about the Puckurt pairing but it sounds tempting.**

**Unedited**

* * *

Another day, another Glee meeting.

"All right guys," Mr. Schue said with a clap, "before we end today's session I want to get a message across." Puck couldn't help but let out an echoing groan. "Now that sectional's are over the odds of us performing in New York in front of hundreds has doubled." The remark drew a hamster-like squeal from Rachel. "Even if we don't win nationals, earning a spot in the competition will show the school that Glee Club is a worthwhile experience, contrary to whatever Coach Sylvester says."

Sitting behind Puck, Tina added, "You mean people are still listening to the person who tried to fire cheerleaders out of a cannon? Literally?" The girl had a point. If Coach Sylvester had her way, Santana's cantaloupe implants would've been the only thing saving her from an epic face plant on live television.

"Oh but she made it up to us," said Brittany, reaching into her homemade Lord Tubbington backpack. "Coach gave me this." She held up a small rag doll that sported a tiny black vest, crudely-cut tan slacks, and styled curly hair. Three long needles stabbed its face.

"That's not creepy at all," Artie said flatly.

"Brittany, remember our talk about not making Mr. Schue uncomfortable unless he pisses us off?" whispered Santana, carefully taking the doll from Brittany and putting it into her bag.

The doll had done its job though. " Meeting dismissed," Mr. Schue said quickly, his eyes on the tiled floor. Once outside the classroom, the club wordlessly broke off into pairs.

Rachel and Puck were to patrol the edges of McKinley and the surrounding suburbs. Mercedes and Finn were off to patrol the parks scattered across town. Santana wheeled Artie towards Sam. "Take care of Barbara Gordon for me," she said before walking off with Brittany. They were off to patrol where ever Santana felt like patrolling.

* * *

"Picture me singing _'Remember My Forgotten Man,_'" said Rachel as the pair walked by Finn's house. " The American flag flowing behind me and Finn dressed as Captain America."

Before the IPad and Justin Bieber, Puck would've upped and left Rachel the moment she said "singing". The girl, normally a solid 7.8 in the Puckasaurus scale, dropped to 3 once she opened her mouth. "You could be dressed as a wounded soldier returning from battle."

Thankfully, Puck now carried gin with him at all times.

Hearing Rachel rant about how she would slaughter any show choir that sang pre-1930's tunes at sectionals (her words) was better than the alternative, the screams of an innocent. Besides, having Rachel in a positive mood would make it easier for Puck to drop the bomb on her.

"How much would it cost to hire a pyrotechnician?" Rachel continued despite Puck's lack of interest. "Wait, before you look it up, I think the show choir rule book states that performers can only use props without hired assistance."

"That sucks."

"Maybe if I act fast enough, I can apprentice under a seasoned technician-"

"You totally could."

"-I mean, really, how long does it take to learn how to handle explosives? It's not exactly rocket science."

"Sounds easy."

"Wait, a license might be necessary. No matter. My cousin Joseph can forg- "

"That's great, babe," said Puck, raising a finger to Rachel's lips. "Shut up for a sec 'cuz we're here."

The pair stopped in front of a white house with a large lawn, its viridian blades unnaturally even and stiff. It was the house Kurt had singled out before jumping out of Puck's the truck. Although it was highly unlikely that a vampire would give away his hangout, in Puckerman's book, it was worth a try.

"Rach, you know you're the best singer in the club right?" Rachel nodded in agreement. "And you could probably kick my ass if you wanted. At any time. At any place." Rachel eyes visibly agreed. "Promise me you won't ever do that."

"Puck, what's this about?" Rachel asked, pushing his finger away as he tried to cover her mouth again. The pair remained quiet, their eyes trained on one another in a timely game of _The Truth Blows And Here's Why_.

"I might've given a hitchhiking vampire a ride to town last night. To this house actually."

If God was a chick it would've been Rachel because Puck couldn't picture anyone more likely to overpower him with a single word. "WHAT?"

"I said 'might've.' There's a big differen-"

The force of Rachel's one-handed push sent him stumbling. "No, Puck. You don't get to weasel out of something like this," she said in a strained tone, eyes darting between him and the house. "How did a vampire trick you into driving into Lima? Was it hypnosis? Oh I would bet my voice on hypnosis."

_Don't lie dude_, his conscience flared as Puck maintained a steady face,_ she was there when it happened to Quinn. You don't lie to Rachel. _

"Hypnosis", he agreed, joining Rachel as she stared at the house. "He had these little shifty eyes that made it hard not to look at him."

Rachel exhaled loudly, the gesture adding a few years to her small face. One would be led to believe that Rachel lived to outshine anyone in anything. Math. Singing. Owning the most animal print sweaters in school. Slaying was a different subject.

Behind Quinn, Rachel was grace incarnate while wielding a weapon. Her punches packed muscle that Puck trained night and day to add to his frame. She was the one who found the _Vampyr _book, explaining the chilling dreams that woke them up at night. When everyone had accepted the truth about the supernatural, Rachel took on the load without a second thought.

Organizing patrols according to skills and strengths, she kept track of suspicious activity reported in the news while the rest of the group dated and generally made-out with each other. Rachel introduced Artie to Demonology and sent Tina to her first coven meeting. Under her guidance, their little group of freaked out drama queens had transformed into a well-rounded group of knife wielding, donkey kicking slayers. The only casualty in the journey, besides Quinn, had been her relationship with Finn, a subject Rachel avoided talking at all times.

_She's like a Jewish Nick Fury_, Puck often thought.

The repercussions of Pucks little hitchhiker were obvious to Rachel. "I hope you don't take the push personally," Rachel said. He understood. "Let it go, Rach."

Her mouth momentarily opened and closed. _She's speechless you fuck up. _"That explains why Tina didn't sense a vampire enter Lima," Rachel said, crossing her arms.

_Great, more crap to make me look bad. _

_"_A few weeks ago," Rachel began, "Tina managed to design a spell that imitates the natural protection charms most inhabited homes develop._" _Puck hated those words and his scrunched face showed it.

"The magiks are going to bite you in the _tuchus_ one day ," Rachel said with an eye roll. "When a house or apartment becomes a home to someone, natural magic becomes woven into the very structure. Vampires and demons looking to grab an at-home-snack are repelled by the magic unless invited inside by the occupants."

The Puck's stayed quiet as his eyebrows slowly traveled up to his narrow hairline. "Last week Tina managed to cast the charm on Lima."

The news were little short of overwhelming to Puck and for a moment he felt a hint of panic. "You mean we're never going to see-"

"I wish," Rachel interrupted, "Tina is powerful but magic weakens when spread out, even at her level." Her gaze returned to the ever creepy home. "Demons and vampires entering the town will only feel a slight push before going about their business. But Tina will feel their presence and she will alert us." A beat of silence followed until Rachel said, "We were going to announce the good news to the group tomorrow."

"God," was all Puck could utter as the disappointment choked him. "I screwed Tina's magic whammy." Rachel's silence couldn't have been more damning.

Unable to stand still anymore, Puck drew out a silver stake from his sleeve._ Captain Fuck Up. _He felt the stake in his grasp begin to bend.

"I know you didn't mean it Puck," Rachel said, a sickle ready in one hand, the other balled into a fist. _Just like Nick Fury_. "But you if hadn't invited it, Tina would've felt it cross the barrier. Lives wouldn't be in danger."

For a few months, the town of Lima was vampire-free for the first time in its existence. Thanks to a truck and some seriously confusing feelings on Puck's behalf, the little peace the group had worked hard to create was about to disappear.

Puck wished being a Slayer came with a self-destruct button.

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**Reviews are love but keep it PG.**


	4. God

**I'm terribly sleepy and this fic was written over night due to a bad case of insomnia. It cured it. **

**As always, this story is beta-less and unedited. I'll go over it a few times later in case i missed a few errors. **

**So this little story is very much turning into a PuckxKurt fic. I love the couple, love Mark Salling (in a non-stalkerish way) and admire Kurt Hummel. On unrelated news, I found out Mr. Salling works out near my house *squeal***

**We finally find out why Kurt Hummel is back in Lima.**

**Warning: cursing, violence, offensive slurs**

* * *

Unable to find a spare key stashed under a rock or window sill, Rachel did what she did best; force Puck to break into the house.

Partially stripped and yellowing, the hard wooden floors inside groaned as the pair swept through the kitchen and into the musty living room.

The stock stillness of the outdated furniture unnerved Puck, a piece of him aching for any movement to occur or sign that showed them that a vampire had taken up residency.

It found them.

"Rather poor sense of stealth for would-be thieves," said a voice nonchalantly. Puck could practically taste the hair product lingering in the air and awkwardness from the previous night's truck drive. The two spun towards the voice.

"Puck," Rachel said flatly," I believe we found your Moby. He's also rather pale ."

Kurt was leaning against the splintered wooden railing of the stairs, wearing a snug pair of black jeans and a grey Henley that revealed a smooth chest. A discreet smile ran across his lips. "Tranny guy? I thought I recognized that scent."

"Tranny? That vampire better be referring to your sub par truck, Puck. "

_What the hell is wrong with my ride?_

Puck lunged at him, wrapping one hand around Kurt's neck while the other pulled out a silver stake from his back pocket. Kurt's caught his wrist mid-strike, the stake in Puck's grip lingering over the vampire's chest.

"You're strong," Kurt said, the grip around his thin neck tightening.

"Wouldn't be much of a Slayer if I wasn't." Kurt could practically hear a smirk form on the Slayer's face. "And here I thought all the Watcher's were dead and only women could become Slayers," Kurt though out loud.

The comment earned a confused grunt from Puck.

"The council members are dead? But...how?" all the previously held aloofness abandoning Rachel's voice. _That name sounds familiar._

"Bombed by the minions of the First Evil if you want specifics."

Kurt's hold on his wrist remained steady as Puck struggled to maintain momentum. The afternoon tea conversation springing up between Rachel and Kurt was not helping. " Your friend seems genuinely shocked Puck," the vampire observed, " Seriously, no one here knew about the Watcher's Council fate?" Puck's hand trembled, the strain beginning to burn his forearm. "How are you even aware that you're a Slayer?"

"_Slayers_. I found a book on a trip to Columbus with my dads," Rachel spoke up. _"The Book of Vampyr_." Puck had heard the story before.

Their normal lives ended the day when a town called Sunnydale gave away to a mile deep chasm beneath it, switching from humble town to a mass grave site between breaths . Television interviews with experts resulted in theories like Sunnydale being built above a long series of underground caves. Others claimed it was a gross miscalculation on behalf of the town's engineers, overlooking vital factors like building on the wrong type of soil.

Puck really didn't give a fuck.

That day, for a second, he and other members of the glee club were overwhelmed with an indescribable jolt of grief, memories, and silence. Puck saw a row of women, each somber and surprised as they stared back at him. Like most of the other guys in the club who went through the same experience, most of the memories faded while the emotions and random need for solidarity stayed.

The rest: Quinn, Rachel, Santana, and Mercedes, the first few steps in the journey to fight and make sense of their strange memories were taken.

The following day those affected discovered the strength to bend iron bars, brush off blunt force trauma like a bad case of bed hair, and heal extremely fast.

Quinn and the other girls made the unfortunate discovery of how many nightmares one person could have over the course of one night. Answer: enough to make one crave insomnia.

"So aside from a few basic facts and stories, neither of you know much about your heritage?" Kurt asked before mockingly rolling his eyes. "What is it with Jews always getting shafted?"

"Rachel, can we dust the bastard now? I'm not feeling too comfortable holding onto the anti-Semitic _Dairy Queen_."

A beat of silence followed Puck's question.

For both of them, Kurt was the first being in their limited time as Slayers who knew what was occurring in the supernatural world outside of Lima. It helped that he was easy to hold and chatty. Kurt sighed. "Try not to get ice cream in your eye then, you brute."

Wide eyed, Puck saw Kurt release his wrist and allow the thick stake to plunge through marble skin and into his chest. There was the familiar crunch of bone being shattered and a gasp from Rachel. "Puck, he's disarming-" For a brief second, Puck saw Kurt's fragile fist rushing toward his face.

_Thwack._

His vision burst into blotches of neon purple as the prickly hardwood floor slammed onto his back. Biting his tongue, Puck shoved the urge to scream or cry into the bottomless pit in his stomach. There was no room for weakness in a fight.

He could hear Rachel shout and grunt a few feet away from him, followed by the sounds of metal scraping stone. Before Puck could fully regain his balance, he felt cold hands grab hold of his collar and fling him against Rachel's tiny figure. There was silence as she fell still under his weight.

"Rach?" he let out weakly. She was out cold. Anger shook him up, and Puck carefully rose to his feet. Either the vampire was strong enough to literally knock the sense out of Puck or magic was afoot. Kurt was sitting on an ugly mustard colored recliner at the far end of the living room, busily twining lose threads on his sleeve.

"I staked you," a floored Puck said. "Right now a Roomba should be able to kick you're pasty ass."

The faint outline of the stake's handle jutting out of Kurt's collarbone caught Puck's eye. He had missed the heart completely, was taken out by a single punch, and left empty handed. The vampire had taken a gamble and it had paid off handsomely.

"One doesn't manage to kill a Slayer or two without being a little reckless," Kurt replied. "Or cute. Which I'm both." He sat up and did a quick spin.

Few things in his life had caught Puck off-guard. Barack Obama. Getting Quinn pregnant. The weird boner he got whenever Coach Sylvester screamed at one of the Cheerios. Now he was determined to make sure that a weirdly attractive vampire wouldn't be one of them.

"You might be pretty but-" Puck broke into a charge, attempting to tackle Kurt and make a grab for the stake lodged in his collarbone. The vampire leaped out of the chair, barely skirting by Puck. He hit the recliner hard and clumsily crawled onto his feet again. _Not my best day_.

"The one behind me taking her nightly Jew sleep was a much better fighter," Kurt mused. Unable to come up with a reply, Puck stared at the now lose wooden floorboards scattered across the living room. He was trying to remember other methods of slaying a vampire without the use of silver or holy water. Sunlight was obviously out of the question.

"Don't worry though," he continued, "she'll wake up soon. Her pulse is beginning to quicken, a good quality in the living." There was no biting edge to his remark, only disarming concern. Glancing at Kurt, Puck saw his brow wrinkle while watching Rachel on the floor.

Turning to Puck, he said, "About the punch. I'm sorry."

Puck was going to remember Kurt. "What?"

"In truth, you were the one who started the stab happy routine with your Yahweh loving associate there-" Kurt pointed to the unconscious Rachel, "-and broke into my home."

"What? Since when do vampires own 'homes'?" Puck said while shamelessly using air quotes.

"We we're all human at one time or another Mr. Hacks-away."

"So you lived in Lima? When?"

For once, Kurt was speechless. "Well?"

"A gentlemen doesn't reveal his age."

Puck's arm felt charged and ready to throw a punch. "Dude, did you also turn into a woman when you became a vampire?" The insult earned Puck a swift kick to the shin.

A noiseless moment later Kurt said, "I was born in Lima...," the following words came out as if he had eaten offal, "in the 50's." Moving imaginary numbers around, Puck calculated that Kurt was somewhere in his early 60's. Maybe. Math was never his best subject.

"And what? Returned to raise a demonic army from the pieces of your shitty 50's furniture?" vampires bestowing Puck a fantastically negative view on life.

Kurt responded with a gentle laugh. It was awkward, cute and so very Quinn. _I seriously need to stab this bastard. Again. _

Calmly Kurt said, " No but I know a demon who will be trying to become a god."

It was Puck's turn to be struck speechless.

"And this," Kurt smoothly pulled out the lodged stake," is nothing." The wound instantly sealed itself.

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**Reviews are delicious and good for the soul. Also it's the only way I'll know if I should continue the story.** **I'm fickle. Sue Me. **

**Once again I am sleepy. And did a few corrections. **

**As a heads up, I don't plan on keeping the story any longer than 10 to 15 thousand words. **


	5. Roots

**Short and to the point. **

**While Puck and Rachel deal with Kurt...**

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"Ugh." Tina froze mid-step, inadvertently forcing the autumn winds flowing by them into a docile breeze.

"What's wrong Tina?"

"The spell."

"Vampires?"

Sensing a vampire cross her barrier was light duty for Tina. When one crossed, it was like having a single burning bead of sweat roll down the back of her neck, moist and utterly imaginary. The bead whispered who its owner might be and where they were, a feat of magic that would one day earn Tina recognition well after her disappearance. "Tina, what's wrong?" Mike asked, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

Tina covered her face, incapable of answering due to the overpowering sensation running down her neck and to her back.

A scalding waterfall was running down her spine.

"Mike," she wheezed out, "call Artie to make sure he's safe. We're going to need-" Her scream pushed Mike back a few paces. "-We're going to need him. I can feel a mob of vampires crossing the barrier southeast of here, led by...something old..."

Finding Artie's number in his contact list, Mike hit send and pulled it to his ear. He hated to ignore Tina's pained whimpers but being a Slayer was the one role that took priority over their relationship. _At least until we get married. _

Tangled in Tina's ramble was a name that would ruin their night and the ones to come.

"Quinn's with them."

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***On a side note, I've edited most of the previous chapters to the best of my ability. They feel different to me now, which might be a good thing.**

**Reviews are love and kisses. Sans tongue of course. **


	6. King of the Hill

**Here it is. Things will go down hill for many characters after this chapter but I promise a (relatively) happy ending.**

**Due to freelance work and classes, writing this lil story is becoming difficult but I've sworn not to abandon it. New Reviews will only motivate me to finish it. **

** Again this is unedited and I am extremely sleepy -_-**

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"That's a rather broad term to throw around-"

"But it's apt, Yentl.

A disgruntled Rachel looked through the window, the large purple bruises she received from colliding with Puck earlier already fading at a remarkable pace. "Become a god? Isn't that sacrilegious? Wait-" Puck turned to Berry,"- us Jew's can think that right? Or is it a Christian-y thing?"

A frustrated groan escaped Kurt, his pale hands rubbing against his face. "You both do a disservice to your community."

The last five minutes had been an awkward exchange of insincere apologies stemming from Kurt's kindness and demonic revelation.

"Why would a demon come to Lima for a chance at godhood?" Rachel asked, propping herself on the couch. "Besides a human population vehemently in denial of all things supernatural, what is so special about this place? "

Decades ago, Kurt believed Lima was the town where only lonely cows came to die. Major businesses, cocaine-fueled seers or power artifacts were nowhere to be found in the land's rather bland history.

Only a relatively recent prophecy of a young witch ascending in Lima drew the attention of a few evil law firms years ago, all intent on devouring her magical potential the moment she turned of age.

Over the course of thirty-two murders, the vampire slaughtered every firm representative that crossed the state line. Whatever power-hungry organizations left still standing were effectively dissuaded.

Kurt returned to a life of reverie and traveling after the incident, feeding on pig's blood and the occasional would-be rapist who thought a slender 16-year-old boy made for an easy target. Being an immortal vampire with diamond hard skin and deadly allergies, life was pleasant.

Lima had drifted from his sights when two golden skinned siblings approached him in a dream one night, their voices flat and sense of clothing outdated by at least a millennium or two. Casual snide remarks between the three escalated to an epic bitchy verbal brawl that ended with a slap from one of the siblings, shocking Kurt awake. By then he knew the fate of Lima.

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"Kids, your fabulous backwater town will be the first rest stop in an international road trip by a coven ," Kurt said.

Puck folded his arms to his chest, clearly unimpressed. "So a bunch of peyote smoking lesbians will be passing by our town."

"They aren't the problem. The coven was composed of powerful women-"

"You used past tense," Rachel noted.

"A week ago the coven recovered the body of man from the ruins of Sunnydale. You both know the town, correct?"

The two nodded.

"When he was alive, the man's body was a prison to a fallen Hell God."

They simultaneously dropped their jaws. "Now when you mean Hell God," Puck spoke, "you mean like the devil, right?"

The two, even with their slayer strength and resilience, knew so little of the actual world, it bordered on non-existent. "Puck," Kurt placed his small hand on the Slayer's shoulder, "The 'devil' you know was actually a low-level demon that was killed several centuries ago by Mary Magdalene"

"The Hell God, Glorificus, was native to a hell dimension and part of a triad that reveled in combat, plagues, and loss." Attempting to read the expressions of his audience, Kurt found Rachel's dilated eyes a tad unnerving. A roll of sweat covered Puck's forehead.

"The two gods soon witnessed Glorificus towering over them in terms of strength, reaching heights of power rarely seen among their kin. The two united and managed to cast Glorificus into our dimension, bound her strength and used a mortal's body as a prison. When the man's last day on earth would arrived, it would've been hers as well."

The thrumming of a cell phone danced in the background as Puck and Rachel quietly took in the information. Rachel reached into an impossibly small pocket sewn into her dress, read the text the message and tucked the phone away. They loved interrupting didn't they?

"Glorificus managed to snag control of her host's body years ago and kidnapped a girl capable of opening the door to her native realm," Kurt said. "Old Glory failed spectacularly thought and died in the process, leaving her godly essence in the decaying body of a very mortal man."

"And the coven harvested that power," Rachel guessed.

"Right."

Primordial magic was one of the few things in the world whose worth ranked higher than gold or kittens, Kurt learned in his first few years being a vampire. Evil had a strange love/eat relationship with cute.

"The coven channeled the essence into a Mao Ping jar, but were murdered as they were teleporting from the ruins of the town. Now the jar is here and a dozen cults, demonic chain gangs, and evil businesses have their sights set on being the next Queen of Mount Olympus."

No one spoke or broke into an anxiety-induced asthma attack that would've left Kurt sputtering like an old car. While not feeding on humans, a lack of sympathy had crippled Kurt's once-helpful nature. "Both of you may be gifted but Glorificus and company are big city. At best...you two are a congested highway accident...with an injured dog in stable condition."

Older players participating in the upcoming _Battle Royale _would wipe the floor with them.

The girl called Rachel displayed technique and cunning but relied on the echoing skills of past Slayers to guide her. Sooner or later she would run into an opponent familiar with her style, and unlike Kurt, wouldn't blink before killing her.

The beefy tan one with the Shakespearean name had strength. Yet Puck was a one-note, predictable and short-sighted enough to charge head first into a trap or fall for a feign during a fight. He would likely die first. "The two of you don't want to be here when things turn grim."

"There are eleven of us, you pessimist," said Rachel.

Numbers always caught Kurt off guard. "Oh."

The other Slayer almost jumped up from the realization. "Yeah," he began counting his fingers. "There's my buddy Finn, Tina, Sam, Britney and the skank, Aretha, Mike, Sugar, trouty mouth and-," he raised his foot into the air,"Professor X."

The whirring of a speeding iron ball coming from his left caught Kurt's attention but for the first time in his life he was too slow to react. The ball struck his temple, cracking the hard skin before he fell to the floor.

A large booted foot landed on his chest, pressing Kurt firmly against the ruined wood. _Oh these damn kids are going to pay._

Looking up, Kurt saw Puck leaning over him, his face serious but void of anger. Rachel stood next to him, a baseball shaped iron in the palm of her hand. _Where the hell had she kept the trinket? _

"I almost believed you were being decent by telling us," Rachel said, "until I remembered you were a vampire." She turned to Puck. "I just got a text from Mike. Tina is sensing dozens of vampires crossing the barrier she placed."

Kurt felt the weight placed on his chest lighten at the news. "What do we do with him?" Puck asked.

"The same thing we do with every vampire we fight, no matter how helpful they make themselves seem," Rachel said.

Kurt had contingency plans in case one of the demonic factions managed to find the godly essence tucked away in the local high school. There were even plans created if he lost a leg.

Yet he had not counted on these little wild cards hovering over him like an Abercrombie & Fitch ad. "Do you really think I'm faking being nice?" Kurt snapped. "I'm being helpful because I don't want this town to die." Kurt snuck fingers underneath the heavy boot and pushed the leg upward. Thrown off-balance, Puck stepped back and blocked the oncoming blow to the stomach by Kurt as the vampire turned into a blur between the two.

Kurt swung a roundhouse at Rachel's temple, and felt a satisfying crack as the kick connected. Rachel recovered between blinks before jabbing a long thin blade behind Kurt's swinging knee. He let out a loud and long profanity.

He tried retreating but only his left leg was able to step back. The wounded right leg throbbed and remained locked in a straight position. What the hell was it with these kids and jamming things into him?

"I've locked your knee-"

"I know what you did, Captain Exposition! Let me have my moment here!" Apparently kids these days were not big on letting vampires recover. Thick arms wrapped around Kurt's neck and dragged him back. Puck's. For some reason he felt disappointed in the realization. Through the darkness of the living room, Kurt could see Rachel taking steps towards them, a long silver stake in hand.

Alpha leaders like her wouldn't miss his heart. "A regular vampire would've ripped your sleeping body apart!" shouted Kurt, his voice muffled by Puck's muscular arm. A sharp yank to his head by Puck caused him to whimper, the fine porcelain skin around his neck fracturing noisily.

Moves that often involved crippling one's body in the process were often relied upon by Kurt in situations like these. It saved him the first time he fought a Slayer and it would save him again...fighting two Slayers this time. _What were the odds of that happening?_

This is what he won for trying to save the town his father cherished.

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**Reviews are love.**


	7. Coco Chanel's Suicide Move Number 5

**So here it is. After a brief absence (not really), I'm back to finish this story. I'm not a fan of dragging things out as long as possible or giving fake-outs so believe me when I say that this story will conclude in a couple of chapters. After all, the events take place in a span of two nights. **

**While I may not get a lot of comments, I get absolutely high over the fact that people are ACTUALLY reading my little story. Thank you, sincerely.**

**As always, this story has no beta. **

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"I'm suppose you won't be giving me a ride out of town after this, huh?"

The man holding Kurt in a tight headlock was quiet. " I haven't hurt anyone since arriving," Kurt continued," I haven't even tasted human blood since the 60's."

Puck failed to reply or even open his mouth. The guy was a follower, Kurt deduced, and even if he managed to reason his way through Puck's thick yet attractive skull, he doubted Puck would do much against Rachel.

She was a foot away now, the silver stake glowing in her steady grip. Rachel would've loved the Salem Witch Trials.

"You want to be remembered as some noble monster," Rachel asked. "Don't beg. It cheapens you even if your information was going to lead us into a trap." So the group made-up for their inexperience with zealousness. Cute.

"And what are the fabulous clues leading you to that conclusion," he replied.

"The last time we believed a vampire was capable of helping us, one of our own died."

Kurt caught Puck look away as Rachel drew back the stake, leaving no moment to respond. He simply took his first breath in decades and murmured a spell.

Kurt tensed his muscles as his feet slammed against the wooden paneling, releasing a wave of pressure and heat that shattered the dated floor and visibly warped the oxygen around them.

Wooden chips and dust flew into the air, launching Puck through the living room ceiling before disappearing into the second floor. Kurt saw the wave of pressure shake and tear the stake from Berry's hand, pitching her into wood, steel and cottony insulation as her body broke through the living room wall. She loudly landed somewhere in the backyard.

As the energy died down, Kurt fell to the floor, his burst ear drums already healed. Along with the black converse he was wearing, the technique had wiped out all the strength in his legs.

Kurt knew what to expect when his finger tips prodded against his legs. The shockwave had turned his long slender legs into trails of shattered knee caps and broken feet, the cracks evident even through the dark denim of his jeans.

The trick had done its job, removing him from any near death scenarios by wiping everyone else off the board. A combination of magic and strength, the move was taught to him by a silver golem he dated for a few months during the 70's. Decades of introspection later, Kurt still wasn't sure why his ex taught him the technique or why he even found Kurt attractive to begin with. A story for another time he supposed, if he ever ran into his ex again.

Minutes passed as Kurt remained on the floor, his legs slowly repairing themselves. His working senses were on overdrive, surveilling his surroundings in case either of the slayers decided to wake up. He caught the scent of blood drifting from the second floor, most likely from Puck being injured in the blast. He made a quick memo to help Puck as soon as he was able to walk.

Outside, Kurt heard nothing but the soft padding of a cat's paws as it walked over the tender face of an unconscious slayer. From the purring and Rachel's muffled breathing that followed, Kurt guessed that the stray cat had decided to perch itself on her face.

He reached for a nearby chip of wood and tossed it through the gaping hole in the house, striking the cat. The rustling of grass and shaking bush branches told him that the animal had gotten the message and made a run for it. Casually suffocated by a cat wasn't how Rachel wanted to go, Kurt guessed.

High-pitched sirens broke Kurt's stream of thoughts. They belonged to the police, likely alerted by neighbors who heard the small explosion coming from the only 'abandoned' house on the block. From the pitch of the siren, the authorities were likely only a few blocks away.

Plans, by their nature, always changed at the critical moment. In the face of disaster, the key wasn't to lament how uncooperative the whole town seemed when Kurt was merely trying to prevent a micro-apocalypse from wiping out the town of Lima.

One had to adapt and never second guess their actions.

Kurt only had a minute, at most, to scoop Puck and Rachel out of his former home and leave them in an empty ditch. They would have to recover without him hovering over them. After that he would make a run to his old high school, snatch up the essence of Glorificus stranded in the basement of the main building (if his sources were correct) and then...well hopefully things would sort themselves out.

As the sirens drew closer and the last fracture in his thigh repaired itself, Kurt rose from the ground and was gone. Seconds later so were the bodies of Puck and Rachel. The night grew darker still.

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**So Kurt managed to come out on top and show he isn't a bastard. Mostly. **

**Reviews are love. **

**Next Chapter-Well...someone blonde will be making her first appearance.**


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